


the bet of a lifetime

by niunepp



Series: we went from rivals to lovers, and i think that's pretty neat [1]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Attempt at Humor, Enemies to Friends, Fluff and Humor, Gen, Inspired by Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV), M/M, Mutual Pining, PLEASE READ THE NOTES AT THE BEGINNING, Pining, Slow Burn, because they don't end up together in this fic, cameos by other people in the dsmp, implied skephalo and karlnap, not beta’d we die like tommyinnit in jail
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-15
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-17 04:48:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29344614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/niunepp/pseuds/niunepp
Summary: George glares at him with all the venom he can summon. Dream leans back into his chair with his grin still plastered across his face, his hands crossed behind his head, and the white shirt straining against his arms. Not that George is looking, mind you.“Shut up, you’ll be the one with no comeback when I win this bet.” His cheeks were beginning to warm up, and he quickly ducks his head down. To everyone else, George looks completely engrossed in whatever he’s doing.“Mhm, sure.”Smug bastard.orWho can fall in love the fastest?
Relationships: Clay | Dream & Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), GeorgeNotFound & Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF)
Series: we went from rivals to lovers, and i think that's pretty neat [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2163987
Comments: 16
Kudos: 131





	the bet of a lifetime

**Author's Note:**

> hello! this is my first time ever publishing on ao3. i'm very excited to post my work and i hope you enjoy!!
> 
> a few things i just wanna say before: this is going to be a series so George and Dream don't end up together in THIS fic. they will eventually but not here. and all of the characters in this have last name so if you're confused about the names scroll to the end notes for reference.
> 
> there are a few content warnings: discussion of murder, mentions of animal cruelty and arson, and cursing.
> 
> please do not share this to the cc's in this fic. if Dream or George ever change their minds about works with content such as this, or express discomfort with fanfictions written about them, I will take this down immediately.

“Hey Taken, what’s the number for the body shop you go to?” George asks with carefully curated nonchalance.

“Why do you wanna know, _George_?” Dream narrows his eyes at George flipping his file closed, his suspicions rising by the second. The detective spits out George’s name like it’s an insult, and to him it probably is.

“Well, I just wanna get the best prices when I sell your dumb, old motorbike, y’know?” A small smirk stretches George’s lips as he watches Dream’s face slowly morph from suspicious to annoyed.

“You’re such an idiot. There’s no way in _hell_ -”

“Language!”

Dream rolls his eyes. “There’s no way in hell that you’re gonna win this bet. My nickname isn’t ‘genius detective’ for nothing.”

George scoffs. He crosses his arms, officially -in his mind- taking a break from the paperwork currently piled on his desk.

Dream shifts his eyes back to his work, scribbling down a few final words. “Also, her name is Jeanette. Show some respect.” 

“Of course, you named your bike.” George scoffs again. “I’m still three solves ahead of you, Taken. Hurry up and use that _genius_ brain of yours, why don’t you?” Sarcasm dripping off his tongue. 

“Ooh, Georgie, you might want to take those hurtful words back.” Dream lifts up four thick files that are coloured a light yellow with a grin. The squeak of the small tires of his office chair, grating on George’s ears. 

George huffs, a small pout forming on his lips as the small lead he had gained diminishes before his eyes, “Whatever, Taken.”

“Aww, poor baby has no comeback.” Dream asserts with an annoyingly smug and self-satisfied grin. 

George glares at him with all the venom he can summon. Dream leans back into his chair with his grin still plastered across his face, his hands crossed behind his head, and the white shirt straining against his arms. Not that George is looking, mind you.

“Shut up, you’ll be the one with no comeback when I win this bet.” His cheeks were beginning to warm up, and he quickly ducks his head down. To everyone else, George looks completely engrossed in whatever he’s doing. 

“Mhm, sure.” 

Smug bastard.

**.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.**

A week later, Dream stays in the lead. 

George is infuriated. One measly case is making his life miserable

“So, Roberts, do you prefer roses or…” Dream asks, spinning his chair slightly to the left and slightly to the right, waiting for an answer with a barely hidden smile.

George gives him a deadpan stare. Slowly, George puts his pen down and closes the file he was working on. He leans to his left and checks the captain’s door. It’s closed. George looks back at Dream. Without making a sound, and expressionless, he raises his hands and flips Dream off. 

Soon enough, the familiar sound of wheezing fills the air. “Ooh Georgie, being unprofessional in the workplace, are we?” 

George makes no move, his hands still up in the air, and his thin fingers still stretched out. 

“Either way, it doesn’t matter. I get to choose, remember?” 

“No.” _Thud_.

“Matter.” _Thud_.

“What.” _Thud_.

Three case files land on Dream’s desk, covered with trinkets, small toys, and endless amounts of rubber bands, enunciating the last three words of his statement.

George stays silent. The only evidence that he heard Dream is the slight furrowing of his brows, a deep inhale, and his eyes fluttering shut. 

****

**34 - 30.**

The numbers flash, similar to how a warning sign would, behind his shut eyelids.

The door to the captain’s office opens, and George moves his hands down fast. So fast, in fact, that he hits his fingers against the wood of his desk on the way down. 

Dream lets out a small snicker, his tanned fist held against his mouth.

George bites his lips, effectively stopping the long string of curse words that he would’ve let out.

The sound of someone clearing their throat brings George back to reality from the pain that was currently coursing through his fingers. 

“If I could have a brief moment of everyone’s time, please,” Captain Puffy starts, commanding the attention of everyone in the room. “With how the past year has gone, I want to thank all of you, every single person here has made this an incredible year,” Puffy continues. “However, I would like to specially congratulate our two top detectives. Mr. Dream Taken, and Mr. George Roberts. These two men have successfully pioneered us to a new record for the number of arrests made by one precinct in just one year. A round of applause, please.”

A voice shouts over the sounds of clapping hands and quieter words of acknowledgement. “Let’s go! That’s my best friend!” 

“Thank you, Sapnap.” Dream stands up and bows extravagantly. “But, I could not have done this without the one and only George. The light of my life, the moon to my sun, the ender to my pearl-”

Unbeknownst to everyone, George quietly flips him off under the safety of his desk.

“Make this quick, Taken. We don’t have all day.” Puffy coughs, the words muffled behind her hands, while walking back to her office. No one notices, but her lips curl into a small smile.

“You got it, Captain.” Twirling around to face the captain’s retreating back, Dream quickly salutes and turns once more to face George.

“As I was saying, George, I want to thank you for making that bet with me a year ago and giving me the opportunity to take you on the worst date possible-”

“In your dreams, Dream.”

“Ooh, we got a master of puns here, don’t we?” Dream continues, “Anywho, to thank you for this wonderful year, I've planned a small party.” He pulls out some confetti from his jean pockets and throws it into the air. Most of it ends up on George and on top of his desk.

Alex pipes up from his desk, “What?! What the hell, Dream? You just carry fucking confetti in your pockets all the time?” Small laughs break the sentence up. From the side, Bad glares at Quackity but says nothing. 

“It _is_ a special occasion, Quackity.”

George crosses his arms across his chest, and he tilts his head, the ‘what do you want, Taken’ clear through his expression.

“Ok, ok, don’t worry I got the hint.” He lifts his hands placatingly. “I’ll make this as painless as possible, just for you Georgie.” The words coated and covered with honey, sickeningly sweet. 

“Hit it, Sapnap.” 

“Aight, you got it, babe.”

“Don’t call me that, but thank you.”

“I’ll call you what I want, bitch.” Sapnap crouches under his desk to grab the old cd player left behind by the previous owner of his desk.

An iconic, and familiar to many, melody rings out through the brick walls of New York’s 77th precinct. 

Spice Girls.

_Nice_. As much as George hates Dream, he can’t besmirch the good name of Spice Girls.

“George, let me tell you what I really, really, want.” Dream bends down slightly, just enough to grab George’s hands that were now exposed and vulnerable, out from the security of his desk. Dream yanks him from his chair, and in the same motion wraps his other hand around George’s waist. 

Before George can even comprehend what happened, Dream is spinning him around the precinct floor, wheezing like the buffoon he is. George grabs onto his shoulder out of pure survival instinct and Sapnap’s _amazing_ (heavy on the sarcasm) vocals drown out the music in the background.

“Dream!” George shrieks, and it makes the taller man wheeze even harder.

In his peripheral vision, he can see Karl pull out his phone to record with Alex leaning against his shoulders cackling. His stupid fucking beanie is barely hanging on, and George prays to every god in the universe that it would fall off.

George truly had no one on his side in this god-forsaken world. 

Except.

“Guys, that’s enough. Stop being muffin heads, and leave George alone.” Bad scolds, his voice clear in the chaos like an angel amongst mortals.

George makes a mental note to thank Bad later, and maybe buy him some toys for Rat.

“Aww, Bad they’re having fun. They’re literally so cute.” Karl. 

Fucking asshole.

“Yeah, let ‘em dance Bad, look how big Dream’s smile is.” And of course, Alex is right behind him.

Bad deadpans, “George looks miserable.” 

And, just like that, Dream’s hands are off him in an instant. His eyes look at anything and anywhere besides George. 

The places Dream’s hands had touched seem too empty. 

( _What. The. Hell._ )

“Ah, thank you, Bad, for the reminder. I needed to get back to my work anyway.” Dream’s demeanour a complete 180 from just seconds before, flighty and almost nervous.

( _Weird._ )

“Well, the party’s over, thanks for coming guys, and as always, give me any cases you’re too dumb to work out.” He shoots finger guns, stupidly, at some of the people. Namely, Quackity, who responds by pulling out a small hand-made sign with the words, ‘Fuck You Dream. You Green Bitch’ scrawled hurriedly on it.

A chorus of boo’s and “fuck you, Dream”s ring out in the air. 

Dream lets out another loud and obnoxious laugh, landing in his chair.

Sapnap stares at him for a moment. A small puff of air escapes his nostrils and he shakes his head fondly. _Ah_ , he thinks, _this dumbass_. 

George stands there dazed for a second before he gathers his bearings enough and sits down in his chair. He holds his hand against the side of his waist where Dream’s had been. 

If George had dared to look at the man sitting opposite of him, he would’ve seen a light blush painting Dream’s cheeks red, barely visible under the harsh lights of the precinct.

Unknown to the two men, there were three other people quietly laughing. The sounds of song, laughter, and gentle teasing playing from the speakers of a small phone.

**.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.**

“Ayyyyyyy! Big Q! How’re you doing, big man?” The shrill voice of a teenager bounces off the walls breaking the calm atmosphere of the office.

“Big Q! We’re back and we’re ready to work.” Another voice chimes out, almost in tandem.

Dream sighs, already tired and exhausted from the upcoming interaction. He lets his head fall slightly into his waiting hands. The coolness of his palms, refreshing against his overworked and tired eyes. 

“Tommy! Tubbo! What’s up, guys?” Alex stands up and the two engage in an intricate handshake that Dream doesn’t stand a chance at replicating. 

As the next few minutes pass by, their conversation lowers by at least two decibels, Tommy finally gaining some sense about his surroundings. 

Dream lets out another sigh, and his head hits the desk. The muscles in his arms giving out under the weight of his head, the exhaustion of the last week catching up.

“What’s wrong?” George asks distractedly. He was still reading through the details of his newest case.

Dream’s voice attempts a last-ditch effort at keeping up their usual banter. “Aww, Roberts, I didn’t know you cared.” 

“Cut the shit, Taken. You’re exhausted and you look ten times worse than normal.” The harsh tone of George’s words, undercut by the growing obviousness of his worry. “Seriously, what’s up?”

“This case.” Dream admits. The frustration is slowly getting to him and the heaviness of his limbs is _not_ helping. “I can’t figure it out.”

“Ah.” A small noise of understanding leaves George’s lips. “Let me take a look at it?”

“You have your own huge pile of cases to worry about. I'm still in the lead, you know. Worry about your own cases.” The ‘I don’t want to bother you’ is left unsaid, but in the couple years they’ve known each other, George has learned how to pick up on the different inflections of Dream’s voice.

“Dream.” 

And, that’s enough.

Dream hands the file over. 

“What aren’t you getting?” The simple question brings Dream back to reality.

“The evidence.” His words smothered by the fabric of his sweater. “It all points to the dad, but my gut is telling me something else.”

“Hmm. Why? Walk me through your reasoning.” And who could fight against logic?

“He has no motive. There’s no reason why he would kill his kids. He fought, like, ten different legal battles to win custody. But, the, it-it can’t be the mom either, she’s in a different country.” His words stumble over each other, as the gears in his head turn. 

“What about the step-dad?” 

A light bulb.

Dream shoots up in his chair. A grin slowly forming on his face.

“George! You fucking genius!”

“What? What did I even do?” George was frankly confused.

“Oh my god! It was the freaking step-dad! How did I not see it before?” Dream stops himself before he goes on rambling.

He walks the three steps to George’s desk and gently tugs the file out of his hands. The file lands on the flat surface with a small plop. Dream holds his hand out for George to take.

Hesitantly, George grabs the tanned hand and stands up. And then, he’s engulfed in a warm, and comforting, and excitable hug. The elation simply radiating from Dream.

“Thank you! Thank you, thank you, thank you!” Dream’s voice is channelling directly into his ear, and yet George doesn’t mind. His feet are lifted into the air slightly, and his breath is squeezed out of him. 

Dream lets go, and then with one final “thank you!” he’s gone. 

The precinct goes dead silent. 

Even with the presence of Tommy, Tubbo, and Alex motherfucking Quackity with his jaw dropped open.

George coughs once. “As you were,” addressing the people who are now staring at him with poorly concealed smiles. He sits back down into his chair with red cheeks and ruffled hair. 

The regular sounds of the precinct continue, and Sapnap’s laugh is drowned out.

**...**

Tommy stares at the short, British man currently sitting at his desk with genuine curiosity. “Hey, Big Q, are those two dating or what?”

“They have to be, I mean, just look at them.” Disbelief clear in Tubbo’s voice.

“Unfortunately, my young pupils, they are not. They’re just fucking idiots.”

“Language, Quackity, there are children around.” 

“How dare you, I am not a child.” Tommy’s voice is ripe with annoyance. 

“You’re literally 16, Tommy, sit down.” Bad sips on his coffee and stares at the trio over the top of his cup. 

Alex snickers into his fist. Tommy’s jaw drops open. His brows knit and a multitude of incoherent protests leave the teenager’s mouth. At his side, Tubbo pats him on the back comfortingly.

Skeppy’s voice comes in from the side somewhere, distractedly, “You tell ‘em Bad.”

“Aw thanks, Skeppy!”

**...**

Outside the precinct, Dream is spiralling. _Oh god_ , his internal monologue starts, _why did I do that? You fucking idiot. You absolute moron_.

“Dude, you ok?” Karl puts his hand on Dream’s shoulder, shaking it slightly. 

“Yeah, yeah, don’t worry, I’m fine.” He attempts a smile, but it comes across more like a grimace. “Hey man, I gotta go, I’ll be back in a bit.”

With that, Dream’s off to god knows where. Karl stands there watching his back get smaller and smaller.

His phone buzzes in his hands.

_1:03 pm_  
**sapnap, my beloved**  
karl you won’t believe what just happened  
_read 1:03 pm_

_1:03 pm_  
**karl, my love**  
does it have anything to do with the fact that  
i just saw dream looking  
scared shitless ??  
_read 1:04 pm_

_1:04 pm_  
**sapnap, my beloved**  
it probably does lmfao  
emotionally unavailable bastard  
_read 1:04 pm_

_1:04 pm_  
**karl, my love**  
on my way babe  
_read 1:04 pm_

**.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.**

It was nearing 7 in the evening, and Dream is still in the precinct. God, the things he does for the chance to win.

_Win what? Your precious little Gogy? Huh, bitch?_ His internal Sapnap asks crudely. _Shut up_ , he responds back.

“You’re still here? Don’t you have a life, Taken?” George’s accented words cut through the relative silence of the room. Considering they’re the only people there, with Captain Puffy in her office and Karl, Sapnap, and Alex doing whatever they do, the precinct still isn’t completely silent. The hum of the computers and the electricity running through all of the appliances provide calming background noise.

His voice registers in Dream’s ears again. “Hello, Taken? Are you that out of it?” 

“You’re still here too, Roberts. What does that say about you?”

“Everyone knows that I’m a workaholic. You, on the other hand. Well, all I have to do is bring up the Parker case.” Snide comments and witty banter are familiar. This, Dream can work with.

Swiftly ignoring the attempt at rehashing his reckless past, “Did you just admit you have no life, Roberts? That’s embarrassing.” 

“It doesn’t embarrass me, Taken. I like working.”

“Yeah, well, I have to take overtime to keep my lead, don’t I?” The question stays unanswered. 

“Whatever, Taken. Overtime doesn’t help solve cases.” George forces his eyes back to the mountain of open cases on his desk. 

There’s a brief pause and the air stills. 

“By the way, how’d your case go? The one I helped you with.” George desperately wishes that he sounds uninterested at best, and polite at worst. Dream does _not_ need more ammunition against him.

It’s silent for a minute. George re-reads the same two lines over and over, trying to make the words register.

Dream clears his throat. “It was fine, you, uh, you were right. It was the step-dad. We caught him trying to leave the country, and then, then he confessed.” 

George lets a small smile escape, “Better watch out, Taken. I might steal that bike and your title of genius detective.” 

“Yeah, you probably might,” the words vanish into the air. 

“It’s gonna take more than that, Roberts,” Dream speaks once again, louder this time, tone light like the morning rays peeking through the blinds. George says nothing except for a quiet huff and barest hint of a smile. 

The conversation dies out, the flames of their fire calming down to just the smallest of embers - ready to burn at moment’s notice.

**.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.**

The score is even once again, and George finally sighs a breath of relief. At this point, it feels like he’s spent more time at the precinct more than he has at his own apartment. 

Last night, he had ended up sleeping in his car just two blocks from the precinct. The case files were strewn all over the passenger seat, and his legs were sore from being bent under the wheel all night.

George strolls into the precinct with a cup of overpriced coffee, wearing the same clothes from the day before. His tote bag lands heavily on the dark oak desk. He mentally groans at what he knows is coming.

“Someone got lucky last night…” Sapnap’s teasing voice filters into the air. “Who’s the lucky dude?”

“No one, Sap.” Curt and clipped, as he settles into his desk. “I slept in my car.”

“Why?”

“Wait, dude as in man?”

Two voices question at the same time. Although, both are distinctly different in tone. Sapnap sounds concerned and Dream sounds baffled.

“I was working on a case and the janitors kicked me out. So, I just did it in my car.”

“Dude, you need to get a healthier work-life balance,” Sapnap says, his voice getting further away as he wanders over to the lunch area to make a cup of coffee.

“Dude? Like, man dude, or like bro dude?” Dream questions again, making absolutely no sense to anyone. Well, except maybe Sapnap. Their two brain cells work in harmony.

George answers with a nervous giggle, surprising even himself as he waits for the response. “What’s the difference? Also, what, are you homophobic or something?” 

Dream’s offence is clear as day. “Wait, what? No! Of course not! I’m literally bisexual.” 

“Oh. That’s good to know, I guess.” 

It’s awkward. It’s never been this awkward.

“You too!” Dream exclaims, just a second too late. “Uh, it’s good to know, about you too.” 

Sapnap’s words come out muffled from around the sandwich he’s shoved into his mouth, “Wow, you guys are oblivious, Jesus.”

Dream glares at him, “What is that supposed to mean?”

Sapnap looks back at Dream, unimpressed, raising an eyebrow, “Whatever, I’m not getting involved in whatever _thing_ you two have going on.” He throws up a peace sign and wanders off to find Karl.

“Oh come on, we don’t have a thing!” Dream complains with a frown. “Sap! Sapnap! We’re going to talk about this later, better watch out!” The threats bounce off Sapnap’s back, unheard and promptly ignored.

George watches as Dream remembers his presence and the atmosphere around them goes tense, and awkward once again.

Dream’s eyes flit around the precinct for half a second before landing back on him. “So, I didn’t know you were…” he trails off not wanting to offend or assume anything.

“Gay.” George clarifies.

“Cool, cool, cool.” Dream nods, overly supportive. “When did you know?” Common questions are easy enough.

George answers, “I think I was like twelve or something.”

Dream nods again, and they’re both quiet for a bit before George remembers how to uphold the politeness of conversation. “How about you?”

“Oh, I was fifteen. I had a crush on this girl and then she got a boyfriend, and then I had a crush on both of them.” Sheepish laughter comes from across George’s desk.

They share a few quiet laughs and the tension in the air washes away as the strange comfort of recognizing yourself in another person takes over. There’s nothing left to say, an unstated understanding passes through both of them. The two detectives start the day, with small smiles and lighter hearts.

**.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.**

_March 23 - One year ago_

“Taken and Roberts, I need you.” Captain Puffy’s voice is distinct against the masses. Dream and George immediately perk up to attention. Sharing a confused glance, they make their way to the captain’s office just ten feet away.

The wood of the office shines under the fluorescent lights overhead. The air conditioner is on, even though the snow has barely just begun to melt. The small lesbian pride flag on the captain’s desk waves in the cool airflow. “Ah, gentlemen. Take a seat, take a seat.” 

The two chairs across from Puffy creak under the weight of each man, and they share another glance, this time slightly more frightened. 

Puffy laughs a little, “No need to look so scared, guys. I promise it’s nothing bad.”

Dream’s shoulders relax a smidge, and the small crease that had begun to form on George’s forehead vanishes. 

“So, what d’ya need, Captain?” Dream’s lips stretch to show off his pearly whites and his award-winning smile.

“You can chill on the charm, Taken.” Lighthearted laughter fills the air. “There’s a new task force being created. It’s going to tackle the highest of the highest cases, and the top brass is choosing two officers from a few precincts to be part of it.” She looks at the two men in front of her, expectantly.

George’s voice increases slightly in pitch, incredulous. “Us? You want us to be the two officers?” 

“I’d love to, Captain.” No one could tell, but Dream’s shoulders returned to their tightened state.

“Me too, of course, I would love to.” George quickly added. “But, would we have to work together?” He continues hesitantly.

Puffy ponders this for a minute, “Well, it is a task force, Roberts. Collaborative work is expected. But I’m sure there’d be chances for you to work alone.”

George flushes, “Of course, Captain.”

“Right, well. There’s still more to this, however. To be considered for the job, both of you need to bring in higher numbers than ever before,” Puffy admits. “The commissioner will only be looking at candidates from the top ten precincts.”

They all go silent before, “I’m sure we can do it, Captain. We won’t disappoint!” Dream exclaims. 

With that, the two detectives exit the office, Puffy waves at them as Dream closes the door behind him. 

Dream and George hear Sapnap’s voice as they settle back into their desks, “So what’d the Captain want?”

George expects Dream to answer, but the man looks deep in thought. “There’s a new task force being created next year, and the Captain wants to recommend us for it.”

“That sounds cool!” Sapnap says, excited. “Why do you guys look miserable about it?”

“We have to get more arrests than ever before. The commissioner is only gonna look at the top ten precincts in terms of felony arrests.”

Dream’s voice sounds completely mournful. “Sapppppp, oh my god, all the overtime I’m gonna have to take…ugh.” 

George sees an opportunity and he jumps on it, “Everyone knows I’m a better detective than you, anyway.”

Dream’s head turns comedically slow towards George. “You did _not_ just say that.”

“What’s up, losers?” Karl struts towards the trio, Alex trails behind busy with his phone.

Sapnap answers with the energy of someone who's been around the same two people for too long, “Ego battle.” 

“It’s not a battle if there’s a clear winner,” George answers haughtily. If he was a little posher, they would’ve seen his nose turn up a little. 

“What about?” Karl questions lightly.

George answers, “Who’s the better detective, which is a stupid question because it’s obvious I am.” 

“Oh come on! No, you’re not, I solve cases quicker than anyone else.”

“How quick you solve cases doesn’t make you a good detective. Your paperwork is always shit.” There’s an annoyed little huff that leaves George. His memory running through the piles of paperwork that he’s spent hours fixing and looking over.

“Oh come on!” Karl mocks. “He’s right, though, Taken. George _is_ a better detective.”

“Thank you!”

Sapnap, very obviously, takes the other side, “Jacobs, I’m still mad at you, so in my eyes, Dream’s a better detective.”

“Wow, thanks.” 

Cheeky giggles follow. “No problem!”

Quackity looks up from his phone for a brief second, “Why don’t you make a bet or something?”

George ponders this for a minute, “On who’s the better detective? Sure, I mean but what would we bet? There’s nothing Taken could give me that I would want.”

Sapnap refrains from making a highly inappropriate remark that he’s sure would get him in trouble, snickering like a middle school boy into his hand.

“Same, there’s no way that Roberts owns anything interesting.”

Quackity’s background in law comes out in full as he begins to pay more attention to the conversation, “Then, Dream what do you value the most in the world?”

“Jeanette.” Dream’s response is instant.

Sapnap clarifies quickly, “His bike.”

Quackity barely stops himself from laughing, “Ok, so ignoring _that_ , I’m guessing losing your bike would be the worst thing for you, correct?” The question isn’t phrased as a question, more like a statement.

Dream nods once.

“Yeah, it’d hurt his ‘bad boy’ reputation,” Sapnap mocks. “I don’t know how so many people fall for that shit.”

Quackity shifts his attention to George. “Ok, then George what would be the worst thing in the world for you?”

George ponders, “I don’t know, it’s hard to think of something on the spot.” 

Karl interjects with a crazed look in his eyes, “What about a date with Dream?” His eyebrows wiggle up and down.

“Ew. That’d be _the_ worst thing possible.” George agrees and makes a cross with his arms, repulsed by just the thought of it. 

Dream’s face scrunches up, “You wish, Roberts.”

“It’s decided then, at the end of the year, if Dream has more arrests, George has to go on a date with him,” Quackity declares.

“I’m gonna make that date the worst date in the history of dates, Roberts,” Dream interrupts.

“Whatever, Taken. There’s no way I’m losing.”

“If George has more arrests at the end of the year, he gets Dream’s bike.” Quackity finishes his small speech.

George grins, “Ooh, you wanna know the first thing I’m gonna do when I win? Peel off that horrendous flame sticker you put on the side of your bike.”

Dream gasps, his hands clutch his chest, outraged. “How _dare_ you?”

**…**

Later, as the precinct closes for the day, Sapnap catches Karl on his way out. “Hey, Jacobs!”

“What’s up, Drivas?”

Sapnap’s pace slows to a walk, “Why’d you suggest the date? During the whole bet conversation?”

Karl looks at him and blinks twice, surprised. “Wait, are you telling me that you _haven’t_ noticed the tension between them?”

“Oh my god!” Sapnap exclaims, suddenly excited, “I thought I was the only one. _Every_ time I’m with Dream he manages to bring George into the convo. It’s actually insane.”

Karl laughs, layered with slightly manic giggles. 

They share a glance and some laughs, a brilliant and wonderful friendship made of teasing, light simping, and wholesomeness, on the horizon.

**.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.**

_Present Day_

It’s t-minus eight hours until the bet officially ends, and George is feeling confident. The score is tied, but George is so close to finishing his latest case that he can almost taste victory. He glances at his phone to check the time, and then he pockets it. 

He has to pull it out again, though, because he wasn’t paying attention the first time. The screen lights up and the time registers in his brain. It’s 7:20 am, and the stale morning air has never felt so refreshing. He can smell the hotdog stand that sets up shop outside the precinct every day, and even the gross sewer air can’t bring down George’s mood. 

George enters the precinct with a skip in his step. He sees no sign of Dream and smiles to himself; his day truly could not get any better.

“Are you ready to lose, George?”

Perhaps he spoke too soon.

“Try to rattle me all you want, Taken. There’s no way you’re winning, you have no open cases.”

“Oh, that’s where you’re wrong Georgie. I got here an hour ago, and the captain just gave me one. And it’s juicy.”

George looks at him, unimpressed, “There’s no way you can solve a case in eight hours, dumbass.”

“‘Genius detective’.” Dream says as if it’s supposed to be impressive.

George huffs, “You can’t keep using that as a comeback! Sapnap calls everyone a genius. He called Karl a genius just the other day for showing him how to use the popcorn button on the microwave.” He crosses his arms.

Dream looks up at him, “It’s not just Sapnap, though, is it? The Captain used it a few days ago.”

“Any witnesses? Or are you forgetting basic police work?” George argues back.

Dream groans, “Ugh, whatever, George. I don’t have time for this.”

“Fine.” George spits out.

Dream rolls his eyes, “Whatever.”

George turns his nose up at Dream, even though the other doesn’t see it - too focused on his case. He sits there for a while, cross and petulant for some unknown reason until the elevator door opens, and reality kicks in. George sets to work, determined to avoid what was sure to be the worst night of his life.

**…**

George rushes up the stairs, the criminal right behind him, there’s one minute to go and with the culprit in custody, he’ll officially win the bet.

He sees Dream sitting idly at his desk and laughs internally. He reaches the main area on the third floor and points to the guy next to him, “You may be wondering, ‘who’s that guy standing next to George?’ Well, everyone, this is Jak Robinson. He confessed to arson, tax fraud, and animal cruelty.” George takes a deep breath, “Suck on that, Taken. There’s only one minute left, and I’ve won.”

“Oh no. Woe is me.”

Sapnap and Karl giggle quietly on the side.

George narrows his eyes, frowns, and points a finger at Dream. “Why aren’t you freaking out?”

Dream claps twice, and Quackity comes in with a line of almost thirteen people behind him. George’s jaw drops open.

“Well, well, well. Would you look at that? Dream ‘Genius Detective’ Taken has done it again.” 

George whines, “No! You can’t be serious! How the hell did you manage this?” 

“I guess I’m just the better detective.” Dream shrugs, and then he pulls something out of his pocket, “You know what this means, George.” 

It’s a plastic ring in a bright red box.

Dream kneels in front of George, with his hands out, holding the plastic ring, “George Roberts, you make me the happiest man on earth. Will you go on the worst date ever with me? You have to say yes.” The grin on his face is bright and unrestrained. 

“Yes.” George’s answer is quiet and dejected. 

“Sapnap, you know the drill,” Dream says while putting the ring on George’s finger, with surprising gentleness.

Sapnap salutes and pulls out his trusty cd player, “Yessir.” 

This time, it’s Queen. George can say whatever he wants about Dream, but his music taste is damn good.

Karl’s recording the whole thing like always, and Alex has somehow gotten Bad in on the shenanigans as the two of them pull out confetti rockets. 

“I’m sorry, George, but the confetti!” Bad says, equal parts guilty and joyous.

Alex interjects with no remorse, “I’m not. We’re popping off! Popping off!” 

The song finishes in the background, and there’s a moment where Dream and George both become unaware about what to do next. They hadn’t planned this far, too caught up in childish rivalry and pride.

“Give him the details, Dream,” Karl stage-whispers from behind the detective, on his toes leaning over the taller man’s shoulders.

Dream snaps out of whatever trance he was in, “Oh, right.”

For the next few minutes, George is subjected to the torture of extreme detail. Dream goes through so many things that halfway through he just zones out. The only part he catches is, “Also, I bought a suit for you.”

“Why?” George questions.

Dream laughs lightly, “Don’t get too excited, Georgie. It’s bright orange and it has anime symbols on it. Special shout out to Sapnap.”

At the mention of his name, Sapnap perks up. He taps his fist against his chest twice and then makes a peace sign at Dream. 

Dream repeats it back with a smile, and George is left to wonder just how many people have weird ritual-y handshakes and gestures. 

For the rest of the day, Dream drops small, miniscule details about whatever the hell he’s planned - just enough to keep George angry and anxious. By the power of speech and charisma, Dream has managed to convince the whole squad to meet at the nearest bar to witness George’s humiliation. George spends the day miserable, and Dream has never been so happy.

**.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.**

George waits impatiently at his apartment door in a bright orange suit that’s made of a weird material that scratches at his neck and chafes the inside of his thighs. He hears the tell tale sign of Dream’s arrival - the loud roar of his bike and the annoying voice that calls out, singsong, “Oh George! Come outside!”

He huffs and pouts before returning his face to impassive and opens the door. Dream is waiting at his bike, leaning against it, looking unfairly handsome. At least, compared to George in his neon orange highlighter suit. He’s wearing a leather jacket, plain white shirt, and black jeans, truly committing to the ‘bad boy’ persona people believe he has. 

“Wow.” Dream’s voice sounds almost admiring, before, “You look horrible,” he wheezes. Never mind.

George flips him off, too annoyed to say anything else.

“Oh come on, I put so much effort into this, do a little twirl for me,” comes the obnoxious response.

Technically, George doesn’t have to do what Dream says. Obeying his every command was never in the rules, but he still finds himself spinning on his small porch, eyes landing on the broken patio furniture he bought from a garage sale for three bucks.

“Ooh, yeah, that’s it! Work it, baby!” To anyone else, it most likely sounded like a boyfriend appreciating his partner. But, George was not Dream’s boyfriend, and they were not a couple. The thought makes his stomach drop, and George is _not_ ready to unpack the reason why. 

George walks down the steps of his apartment porch, jacket in hand. As he approaches Dream and his bike, he spots a second helmet. It looks brand new.

“We should review the rules before we get this show started,” Dream starts, practically giddy. “I decide what you wear, where we eat, and where we go,” the tone of his voice changes, becoming uncharacteristically serious, “There is one more rule… You’re not allowed to fall in love with me.”

George looks at him, unimpressed, “Won’t be a problem.”

They stare at each other for a millisecond, before Dream remembers what he’s supposed to be doing. 

Dream grins at him, changes the topic slightly, and hands him the helmet, “So, you ready for the worst date of your life?” 

“No, but I don’t really have a choice, do I?” George answers, with a little more venom than he probably should.

Dream looks troubled for a split second, “Well, I mean, you don’t _have_ to do this if you really don’t want to.” He laughs nervously, “I didn’t know you were that repulsed by the idea of going on a date with me.”

George stares at him, not used to a lack of confidence from the other man, “Dream, it’s fine. I have to honour the bet. For my own principles, if nothing else.” He hops onto the back of the bike, “Plus, haven’t you planned for this to be the worst date possible? I have the right to be a _little_ wary.”

“Honestly, most of the stuff I said was just bullshit I made up, I haven’t really planned anything other than the suit and something at a restaurant, and one other thing.” Dream sits on the bike in front of George, “It’s just funny to see you get angry, ‘cuz you’re usually happy or chill. Also, you might need to grab onto me. Actually, you definitely should grab onto me.”

George groans, but as Dream starts the bike and they start to accelerate, his hands frantically reach out to grab the other man’s waist. The warmth of Dream’s body is a welcome change to the biting chill from the early spring weather. It feels weird, being this close to the other detective; the only other time they had been this close was that impromptu hug, which felt like ages ago. George’s cheeks flush, without meaning to, at the memory. 

Unknown to George, Dream makes the same connection to which he also blushes red - partly due to embarrassment and partly due to the fact that George has managed to position his hands uncomfortably close to something else and seems oblivious to the fact.

They sit on the bike in silence, nothing in their ears except the whizzing of the air going past them. The buildings blur into one, the lights and the different colours melting into a pot of unity. Dream maneuvers through the traffic with ease, George guesses it comes from experience. It’s impressive, he admits to himself. 

They’re going to the bar first. Dream made the plan specifically to quote, “Have the rest of the squad take pictures, so that your humiliation is immortalized.” George had rolled his eyes at that.

The bar comes into view just five minutes into the ride. George already dreads what’s waiting inside for him.

Dream hops off the bike and cheekily offers his hand to George, grin wide on his face.

George stares at him, then at the tanned hand extended to him, then back at Dream’s face, and then takes his hand, and purposefully stumbles to land right into Dream’s chest. If Dream wants to mess with George, he’ll mess with Dream right back.

“Oh, sorry,” he says, not sorry at all, grabbing onto Dream’s biceps forcefully.

Dream steadies George and clears his throat, stuttering, “It’s- it’s fine.”

George bites back a smile. _Mission accomplished_ , he thinks - only a little surprised at how easy it was to fluster the usually confident man.

They enter the bar, and are immediately greeted by the flash of Karl’s camera, followed by his high-pitched, manic giggles. “We got ‘em!” 

Quackity is holding a glass of beer, and Bad is standing next to him. Skeppy is sitting on the island table looking intensely at Quackity, but the duo seems oblivious. Well, Bad seems oblivious. Alex looks back at Skeppy with a shit-eating grin and wraps his arm around Bad’s shoulders. 

Captain Puffy is sitting in a corner and she’s brought her wife with her. The two of them talk quietly in the chaos, hidden under the low lights and behind the masses. 

Sapnap strolls up to them, clearly tipsy, takes one look at George and bites his lips and raises his eyebrows, looking like _that one_ emoji. “Hey George, looking fineeee there.” His voice cracks at the end, and George tries not to laugh. 

Dream, for some reason, looks annoyed at his best friend, “Okay, buddy, calm down there. Jacobs! Get Sap some water.”

Karl looks up from his phone and immediately walks over to take Sapnap to another area. He looks a little concerned. The two of them slowly make their way over to the bar, where Sapnap can sit down without the risk of falling, and Karl can look after him and also film anything else embarrassing.

After getting his fill of jealous Skeppy, Quackity makes his way over to Dream and George, ready to tease the two, “So, Dream when are you gonna con-”

Dream cuts the man off before he can say anything else, “Okayyy, thanks Quackity but we’re gonna leave now. We should get going anyways. Bye guys!” He puts his hands on George’s shoulder and firmly steers the both of them out of the bar. 

The only thing they hear as they leave are a bunch of mumbled goodbyes, and the music playing from inside. 

George complains a little, not ready to be alone with Dream for the rest of the night, “We were only there for like five minutes.”

“Yeah, well, too bad, we need to get going anyways,” he hurriedly leads George to his bike, and quickly manhandles him onto it.

George just sits there in shock. What is up with Dream and his lack of awareness about personal space, especially when it comes to George?

Dream quickly starts the bike and they take off once again, this time the route becomes unfamiliar to George, the streets and buildings strange.

Before long, they reach a restaurant. It’s surprisingly quiet, not many people are in the building and the parking in front of it is bare. 

“It’s quiet,” George remarks.

Dream looks nervous, fidgeting with the zipper of his jacket, “Yeah, it’s my favourite restaurant of all time.”

“It’s nice… cozy.”

“Yeah. Let’s go in?” 

“Sure.”

They enter, and the bell above the door twinkles. There’s a woman working near the counter; she looks concentrated, her hands are busy with some type of dough, they aren’t close enough for George to distinguish the food. 

“Aru!” Dream calls out with a big smile.

The woman’s head tilts up and a grin forms on her face as she recognizes the detective. “Ah! Dream!”

Dream quickly walks to the counter, and George trails behind. The two continue their conversation quietly, and leaving George to entertain himself with the decorations on the walls. Absently, he wonders exactly how Dream would've found this place. To be fair, he doesn’t know much about the other man, they’ve barely spoken outside of work, and when they do, their interactions are full of banter, and battles of wit and ego.

“George, this is Aru, and Aru, this is George.” Dream introduces, putting the spotlight onto George.

“Nice to meet you.” He says politely. 

“Wow, your accent is very nice.” The woman, Aru, says. She also has an accent, but George can’t pinpoint where it might be from. He returns the compliment, “You too.”

George tugs at Dream’s sleeve lightly, trying to be discreet - he’s not good with strangers, especially not when wearing hideous clothes, but somehow the woman catches on and laughs, “It’s ok. Dream, take your boyfriend to the tables in the back.”

“You got it, Aru. Surprise us!” He calls back to her, gently leading George to the back.

They settle into the table. 

“You’re not gonna say anything about the boyfriend comment?” Dream questions.

George shrugs, trying to look indifferent, “Technically, we are on a date right now.” Obviously, he’s not going to say anything about how the comment makes his stomach flutter and his heart beat faster to the same person responsible.

“Ah, yeah. Technically, we are.” The emotion in his voice is indescribable. 

They sit in silence for a while, before one of them attempts to make some sort of conversation, Unsurprisingly, it’s Dream.

“So… what do you do outside of the precinct?” It’s a basic question, but it helps lighten the mood. 

George debates whether he should try to keep up the banter or try to answer genuinely. He’s tired and something in Dream’s eyes tells him to choose the latter, “Honestly? I’m too busy with work to really pick up a hobby, but I used to code when I was at the academy.”

Dream lights up, it’s cute how quickly his face brightens. _Cute?_ George questions to himself.

“I used to code too! Well, I mean I still do, but like with the whole task force, I haven’t had time. I didn’t know that about you, that’s so cool,” Dream rambles, with all the energy of a golden retriever. 

George laughs a bit, amused at Dream’s excitability, “Yeah, I started when I was like 15ish, I think. Then, I did comp-sci for a bit in uni, before I dropped out.”

Dream’s eyes sparkle like somehow George is the most interesting person on the planet, “Wow. I used to write bits of code in my notebooks at school. Why’d you drop out?” The question is asked with curiosity and nothing else, but it still makes George a touch uncomfortable. He’s not sure if it’s something he should go into depth about, but Dream picks up on the tension in his shoulders, and quickly changes the topic.

“Anyways, I’m glad I won this bet,” Dream admits, shyly. “I’ve always wanted to get to know you better.”

George is left a little speechless, and if his cheeks flush red, the lights above their table wash it away. Luckily, he’s saved by Aru carrying a few dishes that smell incredible. She puts them down on the table with practiced expertise and smiles at George, motherly and warm. Then, just as quickly she arrived, she’s gone.

He looks down at the few plates, and is left a little confused about what he’s looking at. Dream notices, and laughs. He points to the different dishes, the foreign words rolling off his tongue with ease.

George looks at him in shock, “Since, when do you speak another language?” If he finds it attractive, he closes his lips firmly and absolutely does not let that little tidbit slip.

“I used to come here _a lot_ , like pretty much every day, when me and Sap were in the academy, and I guess along the way I just picked it up. Plus, Aru used to let me work here when she noticed I was anxious or whatever,” He says the last part quickly, trying to make it seem like no big deal. 

George frowns, but resorts to saying nothing. They’re not close enough, yet, for him to pry information out of the other.

Pleasant silence fills the air as they dive in. The explosions of flavour, cold and hot, spicy and mild, all leave a warm feeling in their chests and small smiles on their faces.

Dream’s phone rings, startling them from their trance. He smiles at George apologetically and leaves the table to pick up the call without any interruptions.

It’s the Captain. He clicks the green button.

“Hello?” Dream answers, hesitantly.

“Ah, Taken. I’m glad you picked up. I apologize for the late hour, but I’ve just gotten a call from the precinct and they need you to step in for the night shift detectives. There’s a stakeout that’s supposed to be happening but the detectives on the case are unable to make it,” Puffy explains. “So, can you take it?”

Dream looks back at George, the man looks content happily eating the appetizers. “Captain, the bet ended today. Is there really no one that can take it?”

“I’m sorry, Dream but you’re the only one I could trust with this, there are high stakes riding on this case.” Puffy says, apologetically.

Dream groans, “Ugh, fine, but I’m taking George with me.”

“That’s fine. Good luck, and stay safe.” With that, the call ends.

Dream walks back to the table, bummed out that his plans were derailed. “Hey, so the Captain needs us to take over for the night squad on a stakeout.”

George nods, understanding. “Can we change clothes before we go? This suit is _really_ uncomfortable,” he asks. 

“Yeah, we have to drop by the precinct, anyways.” Dream starts picking up the plates, piling them up on top of each other, effortlessly.

George frowns, he had just taken his overnight clothes home from the precinct. They had been sitting in his locker for weeks before he was finally peer pressured by Bad into taking them home. “Ok, well I’m gonna need to borrow some of your clothes. At least, a sweater. I think... I might have some pants under my desk...” He trails off in thought, trying to remember the inventory of his desk, unaware of Dream's internal conflict.

Dream, on the other hand, basically malfunctions. _George in his clothes? No way, nuh-uh_ , he physically would not be able to handle that. 

Unfortunately, he can’t say anything without tipping George off, so reluctantly, “Yeah, that’s, uh, yeah that’s fine. The hoodie might be big on you, though.” He continues with his cheeks hot, and his palms becoming sweatier by the second, as they walk out of the restaurant, “Y’know ‘cuz you’re short. And I’m, uh, not,” and this time Dream doesn’t even mean it as an insult. 

George glares at him, “Ok, you know what, asshole? Fuck you. I’m the average height.” He stays silent as they get onto the bike and drive back to the precinct. They enter the precinct quietly, Dream still flustered over the mental image of George in his clothes, and George still fuming over the height remark.

They grab the stuff they need for the stakeout, and George grabs the key to Dream’s locker from where he knows the other man keeps it. He’d rather just get the change of clothes himself than ask Dream again.

He quickly rids himself of the gross orange suit and changes into the black hoodie. Relief washes over him as his skin becomes accustomed to the soft fabric of Dream’s sweater. It’s big on him, but that’s to be expected. 

George takes a look at himself in the mirror, and rolls his eyes a little. He looks like a walking stereotype but deep down he can’t help but find it cute and if his cheeks warm up, then that’s his business and no one else's. 

When he comes back to the bullpen, Dream is sitting on his chair, spinning aimlessly. It’s just the tiniest bit endearing. 

George calls out to get his attention, “Hey, douchebag, let’s go,” still a touch peeved from the earlier comment about his height.

Dream stops spinning in his chair, and when his eyes land on George, his jaw drops open without meaning to. George smirks, “Take a picture, Taken. It’ll last longer.” The line is cliche, but there’s nothing about this situation that isn’t.

Without waiting for Dream, George makes his way outside putting a little more sway into his hips, leaving Dream to drool and, of course, to choose the car they’re going to take. Obviously, detective work takes precedence over messing with Dream.

He waits outside the precinct, scrolling pointlessly on his phone, looking at pictures and videos, posted by Karl, of a drunken Quackity and Sapnap singing and hanging on to each other. 

Dream pulls up in front of the precinct, and waits for George to get in, locking the doors after him.

The music on the radio plays in the background, and after a while, Dream sings along quietly. His voice is nice, a little pitchy at some parts, but it’s calming. George leans his arm on the window, listening to Dream’s singing and the quiet hum of the car.

They reach the place they’re supposed to stake out, and they both make some mental notes, regular detective work and all. 

“So… taking a wild guess here, but I’m sure that couldn’t have been your worst date in history,” Dream starts.

George laughs, not at the question but at the memories, it brings up, “You would be right. The worst date I ever had was with this dude from one of my uni classes.” He pauses for a bit, unsure if Dream actually wants to hear the story or not. 

When he looks over, he sees him with an expectant look on his face. George continues, “We were college kids, so I wasn’t really expecting anything, but this guy took me to the place where he worked, while he was supposed to be working,” small giggles escape his mouth, unable to contain them because of the ridiculousness of the story, “It was really awkward when his manager came over to fire him for not being on task.”

“What?!? What the hell?” Dream exclaims in his signature expressions, wheezing following soon after. There’s a small pause, before they both dissolve into giggles again, hysterical and unhinged. 

They calm down slightly, and George asks, “What about you? Aren’t you a ‘ _playboy_ ’ or whatever?”

“Honestly, not really, actually I don’t even know how I got that rep,” Dream confesses. 

George gives him a side glance, “I don’t know, you give off those vibes, plus you have the whole wavy, blonde hair, and green eyes, quarterback thing.” 

“I was a quarterback,” he admits, “but aren’t you colourblind? How’d you know I have green eyes?”

“They’re really bright,” George says, soft and gentle. “And I remember Sapnap mentioning it some time ago.”

The air between them changes, and George tries to bring the conversation back on track subtly, but he had never mastered the art of acting, “So, what was your worst date ever?”

Dream appreciates the attempt to change the topic, no matter how unsubtle, “I think it was with this one girl, I had just graduated from the academy and I was up my own ass-”

“When are you not?” George interjects, lightheartedly.

Dream huffs a little, “If you think I’m bad now, you should’ve seen me back then.”

“Poor Sapnap.”

“Yeah, sure, that bastard was just as bad, but he matured a little quicker than I did. Anyways, I had just made my first arrest and I was riding a high, so with my first paycheck, I bought Jeanette. And the girl I bought it from, asked me out.” He takes a little break, adding dramatic effect. George rolls his eyes. “It turns out she stole the bike, and she almost ended up mugging me.”

George lets out an incredulous laugh, “You can’t be serious.”

“Oh, yeah, when I went to return the bike, the owner was like ‘you can keep it, boy. That chick is crazy, she got one of them bad auras and I ain’t ever want nothing to do with her’,” he imitates a southern accent that sounds a little too natural, “and that’s how I ended up with Jeanette and my worst date ever.”

George giggles, and Dream’s iconic wheeze follows. The latter wipes fake tears from his eyes which only results in George dissolving into another fit of laughter. 

As George calms down, Dream’s eyes catch on some movement near the front of the building. He realizes that they won’t be able to watch from where they’re sitting right now. 

“Hey, George, we should move to the top of that building. We’ll have a better view from there.”

George agrees readily and they move. 

The rest of the night passes by, full of light teasing bordering on flirting, and when they catch the criminals they share a glance and a smile. 

**...**

They return to the precinct, exhausted but happy at a job well done and maybe also to a new friendship-esque rivalry. The two detectives pack up their belongings. In a tired voice, and maybe he whines more than necessary, George asks, “Hey, Dream can I keep this hoodie? I really, really, _really_ don’t want to change into that suit again.”

Dream blushes again, but at least this time his back is turned towards George. He answers, in a strained voice, “Yeah, sure that’s fine.” Either George is too tired to hear the voice crack or he’s doing Dream a favour by ignoring it. Dream really hopes it’s the first reason.

“Thanks, Dream.” George answers, and Dream can practically hear the smile in his voice. 

As they’re leaving the building, George waves him a good-bye with a small smile, and the cold, night wind blows into his hair like something out of a rom-com. The moonlight makes his pale skin look almost luminescent. And it’s all Dream can do to not let his jaw drop at the man’s radiant beauty, barely managing a pathetic wave back with a smile on his face. He watches as George gets into his own car and drives away.

Obviously, like any other sane person, the first thing he does when he realizes what _thing_ Sapnap was talking about, is call his best friend. The phone rings, once, twice, three times, before he hears the groggy, half-drunk voice of the younger man.

Dream looks up at the moon, with Sapnap’s heavy breathing in his ears, a little terrified and a lot in love, as he admits, “Sap, I think I’m screwed.”

“Simp,” is the only thing he hears from Sapnap before the man projectile vomits into the nearest bin.

**Author's Note:**

> because this is a b99 au the characters in this do have last names, as follows:  
> Dream Taken  
> George Roberts  
> Sapnap Drivas  
> Alex Quackity  
> Karl Jacobs
> 
> fun fact: the last name drivas actually means tree in greek. i think. im gonna be honest, i just searched up greek last names.
> 
> i left the second language that dream speaks up to imagination, so y'all can headcanon it as you see fit.
> 
> thank you for reading this, hopefully entertaining, fic! i hope you enjoyed, and if you want to check out my tumblr: [ @niunepp ](https://niunepp.tumblr.com/)
> 
> have a nice day or night! please leave a kudos or a comment, it helps me know if people actually like my work lol ,, thank you!!


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